Four days ago, I turned 26. Three days before that, I poured chemicals onto my upper thigh and left them there until they burnt a hand-sized hole in my leg.
Two days ago, I found out that I have to have surgery to fix it. Again.
I don’t even know what to say. Two days from now I’m going to be flat on my back on an operating table, and I don’t even really know how this happened.
It’s hard to work out how I feel about it. Sad, I think. And really, really angry.
My brother’s 30th birthday party is tonight, and I’m sitting on the plane, about to fly home to make small talk with near-strangers at a bar. I’m staying with my parents, so I’ll have to sneak garbage bags into the bathroom to cover my dressings while I shower, and do my best to walk without a limp.
When I saw Nikki yesterday, I told her I was having surgery on Monday, and she diverted into a conversation about my parents. I felt like she wasn’t hearing me at all. As I was leaving, she told me to have a lovely weekend, and I was so angry I went home and cried. Is she really so clueless? Am I so bad at communicating she thinks this is no big deal?
The part I’m dreading the most is waking up alone. In agony, without my phone or laptop or a book or anything to distract me, and having to sit and stare at the wall for hours.
I don’t want to be alone.